The Reed Montgomery Series Box Set

by Logan Ryles

  Shit.

  Reed blew the water from the muzzle, then jammed the magazine back into the gun. There was no need to worry about the moisture—the durable weapon would dry quickly by the fire. Reed dropped the shoulder holster on the table, then pulled his T-shirt, dripping with creek water, up and over his head. Banks’s mouth dropped open.

  He coughed and looked away. “Um . . . sorry. It needs to dry.”

  “Oh my God.” She hurried across the living room and placed her hand against his chest, tracing the dark bruises from around his side to the tear in his flesh. “Is this from the train?”

  He’d mostly forgotten about the bruises. Some were from the train. Others were from the gunfight at the FBI field office the week prior. And, of course, the new ones were from the fall off the cliff the night before. They covered his torso like spots on a cow, both irregular and pervasive.

  “Yeah. It’s fine.”

  Reed pulled away but felt a sudden touch on his ribcage. Banks stepped closer, then brushed the hair out of his face. She laid eyes on him without reservation, but he could see questions; the sharp wit of a woman who wasn’t fooled.

  “You’re not a venture capitalist, are you?”

  Reed rubbed the back of his neck. “I invest in a lot of things.”

  “Things that get you shot up in a dollar store parking lot?”

  Her stare exposed the simple soul deep within her. Not stupid. Not shallow. Just simple. The kind of simplicity that saw the world as it was and took life one day at a time—a happy, realistic simple. A simple he didn’t understand.

  “That was just a misunderstanding. That guy, um . . . he’s grouchy.”

  She folded her arms. “Well, I hope he has insurance. Somebody owes me a Beetle.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I’ll replace it.”

  “Are you sure you can afford it?” She ran her fingertips up his arm, stroking the outlines of a half-dozen scars. Her eyes danced with distant fire and not a hint of fear.

  “I don’t have the cash on me.” He said.

  “Is that right? Have to arrange a payment plan, won’t you?”

  “I guess . . .” Reed’s words trailed off as he lost himself in her gaze. The wit, the intelligence still shone in those bright eyes, but nothing else clouded her gaze. It was deep, and honest, and totally open. As though she wanted him to see her not just for what she was, but who she was. What she felt.

  Banks ran her hand behind his neck and pressed her lips against his. Every bit as strong and overwhelming as he remembered, the kiss sent waves of thrill, fear, and elation rushing through his body like no drug ever could. She pulled his body into hers. Her hands were strong and soft and warm, like the touch of Heaven running down his back and over his neck.

  He sank closer into her embrace as the moments stretched out, distorting his perception of passing time. Their clothes fell to the floor, and he slid his hands over each perfect curve of her naked body glowing in the firelight. Renewed passion surged into his mind, and the room around him faded from view as he pulled her closer, kissing her as long and slow as he had that first night in Atlanta. As she kissed him back, he heard the breath rush into her lungs and felt her body come alive. Her arm slid behind his back, and they tumbled to the floor next to the fireplace. He was vaguely aware of the dirt and grime that covered the floorboards, but he didn’t care.

  He lay on the hard floor as she moved on top of him with gentle twists of her curved form, cries of passion escaping her lips. Reed closed his eyes as her fingers slid between his. Every brush of her skin unleashed new levels of pleasure. The ache in his bones was driven back, overwhelmed by warmth and love. He slid his hand behind her neck and sat up, pulling her in for another kiss before rolling over on top of her. Banks closed her eyes and bit her lip. Firelight danced across the floorboards and sparkled against the melting snow on her cheeks. He lost himself in her face, memorizing every curve, every line and perfect detail. His mind faded back to the moment at the top of that parking garage in Atlanta, the moment when her beauty and grace enchanted his heart in a way he had never felt before. Never dreamed of experiencing. Every deep longing that was awakened in that moment, then imprisoned as he walked away from the hospital, burst free from deep in his heart and overwhelmed his soul. He needed this woman. He adored this woman. She was the first thing in his entire life that felt completely safe. Completely home.

  The rush of passion grew so strong his mind went numb, but beneath it all, he felt something else—something stronger and more stable. Something he hadn’t felt in twenty years: belonging. It felt right in this moment—deep and true and real. Being with Banks, being close to her, sharing every intimacy, he was risking his entire shadowy persona to a person he really didn’t even know, yet he felt like he’d known her his whole life. No matter the bloodshed or the money or the endless mountaintops of accomplishment he put beneath his feet, he couldn’t outrun the reality that something was missing. Something like Banks.

  He kissed her neck and shoulders and pulled her body closer to his, drinking in each moment. The electric pleasure tearing through his body was more powerful than any bullet.

  He pressed his lips against her cheek, and between gasps of passion, whispered, “You feel like home.”

  Banks rested her head on his bare chest. “Is your name really Chris?”

  Reed lay back on the bed, enjoying the warmth and relaxation of the fire. Her voice, as soft and pure as her skin, sounded like music—like a waterfall trickling into a quiet valley.

  “No.” Why did he say that? He couldn’t tell her his real name—it wasn’t safe for either of them. But something in his soul wouldn’t allow him to lie.

  “I didn’t think so.” She stroked his stomach. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

  This time he waited before answering, savoring the touch of her fingers on his skin. “I liked Sailor Boy. You could call me that.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think I can call you boy after a performance like that.”

  He smiled but left his eyes closed, running his hand over her exposed back. She moved in closer, and for a moment, the only sounds that joined the crackling of the fire were their gentle breaths.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “I was born in Birmingham.”

  “England?”

  Reed snorted, and she giggled. “Alabama. But I grew up in Los Angeles. Moved there when I was ten.”

  “Your parents still live there?”

  “My mother does. She has a boyfriend, I think. I haven’t been back in a while.”

  “And your father?”

  Once more, Reed hesitated, then relaxed. “He’s elsewhere.”

  “I see.” Maybe she knew when to stop pressing, or maybe she was saving it for later. “So, how did you wind up in Atlanta?”

  “I was a Marine. Served overseas for a while. . . . Iraq, mostly.”

  “Is that where you got the scars?”

  “Some of them.”

  He stroked her hair, pushing it behind her ears and over her shoulders. She lay perfectly still with her cheek on his chest. He couldn’t see her face, but he imagined that her eyes were closed.

  “After I left the military . . . well, lots of things happened. I went into business for myself, found my way to Atlanta, and . . . I guess it just seemed like a place to land. So here I am.”

  “Here you are . . . investing in billion-dollar firms in the middle of the Appalachian wilderness.” She ran her finger down the center of his chest.

  He could hear the sarcasm in her voice, but it wasn’t cutting. It was simple, like everything else about her. Honest. She knew he was lying, and she wanted him to know she knew he was lying, but she wasn’t going to press it. Not now. Reed was grateful for that. He didn’t want to lie to her. Something about her open sincerity made him want to tell her everything, to spill his guts and shed every mask he’d ever worn.

  But he couldn’t. He never could. Not only would he lose her, h
e’d lose himself.

  Reed shifted against the bed and cleared his throat. “Okay, your turn. What’s your story?”

  She sighed. “My story? I’m afraid it’s pretty dull, honestly.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Reed shrugged. “I’ve met a lot of people in my line of work. None of them have dull stories.”

  She lay still, and her chest rose and fell in gentle waves. “I was born in Tupelo.”

  “Hence the sexy accent.”

  She laughed. “Yeah . . . hence a lot of things.”

  “So, who were your parents?”

  “My parents were wealthy. My mother is heir to this big oil business out in Texas. Extended family are all multimillionaires, but I don’t know much about them. I just know she always had money. A lot of money. She liked to spend it, too. We lived in this giant house on a small estate, and they called it a plantation, which is pretty standard in Mississippi, I guess, but it always bothered me. I always felt like a rich white girl living it up in the rural south, surrounded by some of the poorest people in the country. I mean, my first car was a Maserati. At fifteen.”

  “No shit?” Nothing about the woman lying in his arms impressed him as being a spoiled rich girl.

  “Yeah, I never liked it. All my friends had pickup trucks and old beat-up Mustangs. We used to go down to the river and drink, skinny-dip under the moonlight and smoke cigarettes. Mom would’ve killed me had she known. She wanted me to graduate and go to an Ivy League school and study law or something. Prep me to be the next heir to the family empire.”

  “I’m guessing you had other plans.”

  “No, I was going to do it. I had applications at half a dozen schools in the northeast. I was already looking for apartments.”

  “What happened?”

  “My father . . .” Her voice broke. “My father died. He was on business in New Orleans and was hit by a drunk driver. They say he died instantly. . . . I hope it’s true. He was such a good man—a kind, gentle soul. He spoiled me rotten, but not like my mother did with money and things. Daddy really spent time with me. We would sneak out and get ice cream and watch movies when I was a kid, and when I was in high school, he would take me to Memphis, and we’d slip into bars and drink. He was cool like that. He said I was his girl. That was all he ever called me, actually—‘my girl.’”

  Banks sucked in a deep breath, and her fingers tightened around his skin.

  Reed spoke softly. “What did he do?”

  “He was a doctor, but not like a physician. I mean, he had a medical degree, but it was mostly research. He was always driving up to Nashville and working at Vanderbilt. I like to think he did a lot of good in the world.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I know he did. What was his name?”

  “Francis.”

  Reed’s brow wrinkled. The name sounded vaguely familiar, as though he had heard it recently, but he couldn’t place it.

  “After he was buried, Mom became horrible, working all the time, and always flying to Texas. She was really mean and intense about me going to school. I guess I just broke down. I ran out late one night and took a bus to Atlanta to see my godfather—Senator Holiday—the one you met in the hospital. He and Daddy were close friends. I stayed with him a while, and then I just knew I wanted to be on my own. I was sick of being the rich girl everybody takes care of. I wanted to take care of myself, chase my music, and just be alive for a while. And that’s about it. That’s my story, I guess. See? I told you it was boring.” Her laugh was soft.

  He nestled his head close to hers, then kissed her forehead. “Not for a moment.”

  Eighteen

  Reed slipped out of bed, leaving Banks sleeping in a curled-up ball. His dry clothes smelled of river water and smoke, and they stuck to his skin as he pulled them on.

  I wish I could stay in bed with her forever.

  The fire had gone out in the night, and now the cabin lay in stillness as air seeped through the crack beneath the door. Reed peered out of the window. A field of white blanketed the woods around them, broken only by the tall grey trunks of the trees that shot toward the sky. Snow was built up at least a foot outside the cabin, laying in thick drifts where the wind had left it.

  Reed’s stomach growled, and the bed creaked behind him. Banks sat up, and her blonde hair fell in tangled waves. She smiled, and without a word, stood up and began to dress in front of the vacant fireplace.

  Reed rifled through the cabinets, searching for anything edible, though all he could find were a couple old cans of baked beans. He cut the lids open with the tip of his knife, then handed one can to Banks, who sat at the table and ate the beans without comment, scooping them out of the can with her fingers.

  “No utensils?” she asked.

  Reed sat down across from her and dug his fingers into the sticky beans. “Just the one I used last night. I still have it on me if you’re interested.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Nah. It’s too big for this can.”

  Reed grinned and shoveled more beans into his mouth. They were certainly ancient but didn’t taste half bad. Through a mouthful, he said, “You never told me why you’re here.”

  Banks grunted. “My godfather has a cabin a few miles from where you found me. After that shit in Atlanta, the FBI thought it would be a good idea for him to get out of town for a while, so I drove up for a visit.”

  “Right.” Reed finished the beans and set the can on the table. For a moment he stared at the girl sitting cross-legged at the other end of the table, and his mind was lost in her simple beauty. But not just her beauty—her mental fortitude, also. He marveled that this woman, who had endured a brutal kidnapping only two weeks prior, and now was huddled inside a cabin in the middle of nowhere after running for her life from a maddened killer with a grenade launcher, could be so composed and calm. He wondered how that could be natural. Were he in her shoes, with no prior experience in warfare or bloodshed, he would be freaking out right now. Did she not grasp the reality of the terror that had befallen her, or was she simply that much stronger than he realized?

  Banks looked up and lifted one eyebrow. “What?”

  He shook his head and rubbed his fingers against the table, smearing the bean residue off his skin. He pushed away the confused thoughts about Banks, and forced himself to refocus on the problem at hand. Or, rather, the problems. There were several of them.

  After escaping The Wolf in the woods, his focus had been staying alive long enough to find Oliver. Now that goal seemed even further out of reach. If Mitch Holiday were in these mountains, it was only a matter of time before Oliver knew about it, and after that, the senator would be anything but safe. Whoever this Wolf worked for, he might be just as interested in killing Holiday as he was in burying Reed.

  “I think you should leave me here.” Banks leaned back in her chair, her arms folded as she stared out the window.

  “What?”

  “Whoever ran us off the road will be back. You should probably get back to town before he finds us. He won’t hurt me.”

  The calm frankness of her words took him off guard, and he wondered for a minute if she was completely ignorant of the severity of their situation. But no, she wasn’t dumb. She was simply objective.

  “I think we should get you back to your godfather, first.”

  Banks shrugged. “I can see to that. Where are we, anyway?”

  Reed twisted his neck until it popped, then scooped up the cans and walked them to the empty trash bin in the corner. “I’m not sure. Either North Carolina or Tennessee. We were pretty close to the state line when we wrecked. Robbinsville is east of here.”

  “Are there any highways?”

  “Highways? No. State roads, maybe. Places where we could pick up a ride.”

  “What about the Beetle?” she said.

  Reed lifted Banks’s bright red coat off the counter and turned it inside out, leaving the soft white lining exposed. “The Beetle is
beyond the help of AAA, I’m afraid. We’ll have to walk.”

  Banks slid on the inside-out jacket, then wrapped it around her slim body before standing on her tiptoes and kissing Reed on the lips.

  “Well, all right, then. Let’s roll, Sailor.”

  The forest outside the cabin was as a winter wonderland, a field of frozen trunks buried in drifts of perfect white. Reed had no clue where the nearest road lay or how to get back to a main highway. For all he knew, they would have to walk miles before encountering any life. He guessed that the cabin wouldn’t be too far from civilization, so hand in hand, they started through the trees. Birds flitted, tweeting to one another as they swooped down between limbs and played in the snow. An occasional chipmunk bounded in the soft white snow, staring with beady eyes at the human invaders as they trudged onward. There was something perfectly serene about this place, now muted with snow and accented with icy diamonds.

  Miles passed before the trees parted at a hilltop, and Reed caught sight of a two-lane roadbed a hundred yards below. It was covered in a thin sheet of snow, but tire marks ran back and forth in both lanes. There was traffic, at least, and maybe it wouldn’t be long before the next vehicle happened along.

  The exact position of the sun was difficult to determine through the mountaintops and trees, but hoping they were headed east, they faced the general direction of the light and marched on.

  Banks looped her arm through his, her cheeks now flushed. “So. Coke or Pepsi?”

  Reed laughed. “What?”

  “It’s a game I read about one time. Twenty questions to learn about a person—or, you know . . . a lover.”

  Reed shot her a sideways look. “Is that what I am now?”

  “Well, you’re definitely not a venture capitalist, so . . .”

  He laughed again. “Okay, fine. Coke.”

  “Ooh, nice.”

  “You?”

  “Mountain Dew.”

  He poked her in the arm. “That wasn’t an option!”